Brotherhood of Thieves 1

by Stuart Daly

  Gramidge smiled and looked longingly around the room. ‘Ah, those were the days. Some evenings this manor was full to bursting with guests – royal cousins, dukes, barons and their entourages. The corridors were alive with noise and laughter. Oh, and the banquets and dances we used to have in the Great Hall! I’ll tell you, lad, I’ve never seen such merriment and feasting.’

  ‘Things are a lot quieter now. You must miss the excitement.’

  Gramidge shook his head. ‘Not in the least. Everything has its time and place. I wouldn’t have the patience to deal with such parties now. The memories these rooms and corridors hold are enough to keep me company.’ He grinned and rubbed his grizzled chin. ‘Besides, just picking up after you lot is enough to run me off my feet.’

  Caspan smirked. ‘So you’ve known Duke Connal for some time?’

  The steward nodded. ‘My entire life. He was born and raised in Briston, and was a close playmate of King Rhys when they were younger. I’ve seen him grow from a ­rebellious, headstrong youth into the fine man he is today.’

  Caspan raised an eyebrow. ‘I can’t quite picture the Duke as a troublemaker.’

  Gramidge leaned in close and lowered his voice. ‘I could tell you a story or two about the Duke that would make you see him in a very different light. Royal blood or not, teenage boys are teenage boys – don’t let anybody tell you otherwise.’ He grinned as he sat back in his seat. ‘But I won’t, of course. It wouldn’t be proper of me, would it?’

  ‘I guess not.’

  They sat in silence for a while before Gramidge asked, ‘What’s troubling you, lad?’

  Caspan looked at the steward in surprise. ‘Is it that obvious?’

  ‘Why else would you be here, hiding away while the rest of your friends are in the Great Hall? So what is it? They say a problem shared is a problem halved.’

  Caspan chewed his bottom lip. He was accustomed to keeping his thoughts to himself. After all, his fellow thieves in the Black Hand weren’t exactly the most sympathetic of listeners. He felt he could confide in Gramidge, though. There was something about the steward that he found comfortable, like an old blanket.

  ‘Do you think the Roon will get this far south?’ he asked.

  ‘I hope not.’ Gramidge looked around the hall. ‘Knocking down spiderwebs is one thing, but defending these walls from the Roon would be a completely different kettle of fish.’ His brow furrowed and he directed his gaze back to Caspan. ‘Why are you worrying about that?’

  Caspan shrugged. ‘I guess I’d never really had much in life till now – I’ve got a new home and friends.’ He looked down at his drink, which he swirled slowly in his hand. ‘I don’t want to lose them.’

  The steward smiled softly. ‘I don’t know much about the northern legions and battles, lad, but I think you’re worrying unnecessarily. King Rhys will never let the north fall. He’ll defend the border until his dying breath. Besides, the Brotherhood is always finding new magical weapons and Wardens. I’m sure they’ll turn the tide of the war in our favour.’

  Caspan looked at him hopefully. ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘Of course they will. It was only last month that the Brotherhood discovered a secret cache of over a dozen magical swords and bows in a tomb in Salahara. These artefacts have been handed to generals and veteran warriors. Master Scott also found a particularly nice sword in a barrow not too far from here, just before you arrived. Its blade was made of a strange substance that resembled grey smoke, and it sliced through iron like a hot knife through butter. It’s now wielded by General Stene, the Commander-in-Chief of the King’s Armies. Then there have been all the magical rings the Brotherhood have found – rings that give people the strength of a dozen men. With weapons and trinkets like that, I know we’ll win this war. And if the Roon do advance this far south, heroes will rise to defend Andalon.’ He leaned forward and pointed a knowing finger at Caspan. ‘They’ll come from the most unusual and unexpected places; even some who once scrounged to make a living in the gutters of Floran.’

  Caspan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘Me? I don’t think so. I’ll never be a hero.’

  ‘Don’t sell yourself short, lad. Heroes have come from stranger stock than you.’

  ‘I appreciate what you’re saying, but a former petty thief is hardly going to change the course of the war,’ Caspan said with a droll grin.

  Gramidge’s expression was serious. ‘I’m sure Master Scott would think otherwise.’

  Caspan frowned. ‘What’s he got to do with any of this?’

  ‘You might not be aware of it, but both Masters have been singing your praises. They’re very pleased with the progress you and your fellow initiates have made. The Masters have high hopes for you.’ The steward rubbed his chin in thought and carefully considered Caspan. He leaned in closer and whispered, ‘Remember the first night you met Duke Connal? If my memory serves me right, he told you that a thief broke into a Dray tomb and was caught with the soul key of a wolf around his neck. Do you remember?’ Caspan nodded, not sure where the discussion was headed but curious just the same. ‘You might find this hard to believe, but that fifteen-year-old thief was Master Scott.’

  Caspan caught his breath. ‘No!’

  Gramidge rested back in his seat. ‘Why would I lie to you about such a thing? I’m sure he’ll tell you himself one day, and until he does I’d appreciate it if you keep this our little secret. Not that he’s embarrassed about his past, but no doubt he’d like to be the one to tell you.’ Caspan nodded, his mind reeling from this sudden revelation. ‘I’m surprised you’re so shocked. Master Morgan told you that some of the Brotherhood are former thieves and tomb robbers.’

  ‘Yeah, but I didn’t expect one of them to be a Brotherhood Master.’

  ‘Why not?’ Gramidge asked.

  ‘I thought he was from the army, perhaps an officer in one of the legions.’

  ‘Morgan is. He’s a former swords master and was recruited into the Brotherhood about a decade ago to teach combat skills. Many of the tombs the Brotherhood explore are located in Caledon and Salahara. We were losing too many members in skirmishes with brigands and patrols of highland clansmen. Morgan was brought in to teach the Brotherhood how to fight.’ He pointed at Caspan. ‘But Scott’s no different to you, lad. From the age of six he scrounged in the sewers of Briston. They say he was one of the best pickpockets in the city. And now he’s a Master in the King’s band of treasure hunters. You see, former thieves can rise high in life. They can also do things of great significance – things that might change the course of the war against the Roon.’ He smiled. ‘Heroes don’t have to be great warriors or kings, Caspan. They just have to believe in themselves.’

  Gramidge let Caspan ponder this for a while before he pushed himself out of his seat and motioned with his broom for the boy to join him. ‘But you need to stop being preoccupied with things that haven’t come to pass. The last thing you want is to turn into a grumpy old worry wart at your age. Keep doing that and you’ll wake up one morning with a face like mine. Not that I’m ugly or anything, but I don’t think a fifteen-year-old would want to get around with a head like this.’

  Caspan laughed as he stood up, feeling better within himself. ‘Thanks, Gramidge.’

  The steward raised his broom and dusted a fleck of fluff hanging from one of the rafters. ‘Think nothing of it, lad. Now, let’s head back and join the others.’

  ‘You’d better be careful,’ Roland remarked, pointing at Caspan’s tunic. ‘You’ve got a clean patch there. You wouldn’t want the Masters to see that. Goodness knows, they might think you’ve been taking it easy!’

  Caspan laughed. He was caked head to toe in mud and dirt. His boots were so full of muddy water that he felt it squish through his toes with every step he took back to the House of Whispers.

  The recruits were into their second month of training now, and today they’d completed the toughest obstacle course the Masters had ever set. It had bucketed down last night, tran
sforming the forest track into a quagmire. Then there were the dozens of wooden barriers the initiates had to climb over, the nets they had to crawl under, and the creeks they had to swing over via ropes attached to overhanging branches. Furthermore, they had to complete the course in under an hour. To make matters worse, Morgan had jogged along beside them the entire time, barking orders and criticising everything they did. Even when they’d successfully finished the course in time, the stern Master had simply commanded them to return to the manor house and clean up.

  Caspan glanced at Roland. ‘You should talk!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Look at you. There’s barely a patch of mud on you.’

  Roland held his chin high. ‘That, my dear Cas, is because I take pride in my appearance.’ He looked at the others and smirked. ‘Which is more than I can say for certain people around here.’

  Sara rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, please. The only reason you’re clean is because you refused to take off your cloak until you finished the course, you great buffoon!’ She laughed and shook her head. ‘If only you could have seen how ridiculous you looked, running along the forest trail with those great big folds flapping around your legs.’

  Roland grinned as he pulled the collar of his clean tunic high around his neck. ‘Jealousy is a terrible thing.’

  Kilt winked at Sara, then scraped a patch of mud off the side of her boot and flicked it at him. Roland squealed and pointed at the brown stain on his shirt. He shot Kilt a reprimanding look. ‘Thanks a lot! I’ll have to wash it now.’

  Kilt snorted. ‘Keep behaving like a big girl and see what else comes your way!’

  Lachlan rolled his shoulders tentatively, testing sore muscles. ‘I think we did well today. The Master mightn’t have said it, but I saw how impressed he was. We worked really well as a team. We should be proud of ourselves.’

  The others nodded in agreement, but Caspan didn’t think so. Everyone had cooperated except Kilt. Even when she had been struggling to climb over one of the wooden barriers and he had tried to help her up, she’d swatted his hand aside as if it had been infected with leprosy. She never once accepted his help during the obstacle course, nor did she ever offer it. Kilt didn’t treat any of their fellow recruits like that, he noted. Her disgust and contempt were reserved exclusively for him.

  They made their way back to the House of Whispers and went straight to the building that housed the laundry, where baths awaited them. Gramidge didn’t want dirty feet trudging through his precious corridors, and introduced this system last week after Lachlan had left a trail of mud leading all the way from the front door to his private quarters. A wooden partition separated the boys’ and girls’ baths, and clean sets of clothing and towels were folded on nearby chairs.

  The boys stripped off and climbed into the steaming tubs. Caspan had never been more appreciative of a hot bath. He felt the warm water soak into his skin and massage his aching muscles, making him feel rejuvenated and fresh.

  Roland placed a damp towel over his face and propped his feet up on the side of his tub. He exhaled indulgently. ‘Ah, this is the life.’

  Lachlan yawned. ‘You can say that again. So what’s on the agenda for this afternoon?’

  ‘Sword training,’ Caspan and Roland said in unison. They laughed. It had become a running joke between the boys, since sword-training sessions were held every afternoon now.

  Roland turned to Caspan. ‘By the way, I’ve been meaning to commend you on the progress you’ve made. You actually hold a sword by the handle now.’

  ‘Very funny.’ Caspan splashed some water at him, then rested his back against the tub and splayed his arms over the side. He was proud of himself, though, having come far since their first lesson. He’d mastered all the basic techniques and was making steady progress on intermediate manoeuvres. Caspan was still a long way from being anywhere near as skilled as Lachlan, Roland and Kilt, who had all progressed to advanced techniques, but he was certain that with continued practice he might one day be their match.

  ‘Mind you,’ Roland added as an afterthought, ‘you’re still not up to Sara’s standard. She’s not much of a –’

  ‘I should let you know,’ Sara called from across the partition, ‘that I can hear everything. So think very carefully about what you’re going to say!’

  Roland grinned and winked playfully at Caspan. ‘Ears like a fox, she has.’ He pursed his lips in thought. ‘Then again, I’d say they’re more like those of a bloodhound. You know the ones I’m talking about? They droop down the side of the face like –’

  Sara laughed loudly, but it was void of mirth. ‘You’d better watch out, otherwise some dirty clothes might accidentally fly over this wall and land on your head!’

  Roland looked fearfully at the partition. ‘You wouldn’t dare!’

  ‘Keep talking and you’ll find out soon enough.’

  Fortunately, Roland behaved himself and Sara didn’t follow through with her threat. They relaxed in their baths for almost an hour before they dressed and headed off to the Great Hall for lunch.

  Caspan was the last of the group to dress. He was heading out of the laundry when he noticed the girls had left their towels lying on the ground. Doing Gramidge a favour, he went back inside and tidied up. Just as he was about to leave, Kilt came rushing out of the House of Whispers. She hurried past him and searched frantically where she had been bathing. Failing to find what she was looking for, she moaned and shot Caspan an incensed look.

  ‘What have you done with it?’ she demanded.

  ‘What?’ Caspan had no idea what she was talking about.

  ‘Don’t act dumb with me, you rat!’ She strode aggressively towards him. ‘My soul key’s missing, that’s what! You took it off the hook on the wall, where I’d left it.’

  ‘I did not.’

  ‘Don’t you dare lie to me! Why else were you skulking back here?’ Kilt shoved her face so close to Caspan’s that he could feel her hot breath on his cheeks. She jabbed a finger at him. ‘A leopard never changes its spots. You’re a dirty rotten rat and you should go back to the sewer you crawled out of! Nobody here trusts you. They just tolerate you and don’t want to say anything to upset you in case you decide to break into their quarters and steal everything they own.’ She jabbed him again in the chest. ‘Now where is it?’

  Her words cut like whiplashes, but Caspan kept his cool. He’d been called every name under the sun back in Floran. Besides, Kilt was so worked up that it would be futile trying to reason with her. The most sensible thing he could do would be to walk away. Caspan did just that, but Kilt grabbed him forcibly by the shoulder and spun him around.

  ‘How dare you turn your back on your superior, Gutter Rat!’ She shoved him, forcing him to take a step back. ‘Now hand it over or I’ll beat you!’

  Your superior! Did she honestly just say that? This was more than Caspan could handle. He squared his shoulders and stared defiantly at her. ‘I told you I don’t have it. Now back off!’

  ‘Or what?’ Kilt shoved him harder, but this time Caspan braced himself and held his ground. She raised her clenched fists.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ a voice called from the side door, and Caspan turned around to find Master Scott crossing towards them.

  ‘You’ve been saved by the skin of your teeth, rat!’ Kilt whispered venomously in Caspan’s ear. ‘But don’t think you’re getting off that easy. I’ll tell the Master what you’ve done.’ She smiled maliciously. ‘We’ll see if he wants to keep a lying gutter rat in the order.’ She shouldered past him and went to speak to Scott, but Caspan beat her to it.

  ‘She’s falsely accused me of stealing her soul key, sir.’

  ‘Falsely accused?’ Kilt said incredulously. ‘I saw him take it off the wall! He’s got it in one of his pockets.’

  What a liar! Caspan spun and glared at her, his blood boiling. Scott raised a hand, sighed and glanced at Caspan. ‘Do you have it?’

  ‘No!’ He was offended that the Master woul
d doubt him. Caspan started to wonder if there was any truth in what Kilt had said; that nobody here trusted him.

  Kilt was unrelenting. ‘Don’t believe a word he says. Check his pockets and you’ll see that he’s nothing but a liar and a thief!’

  Scott pointed a finger at her in warning. ‘That’s enough.’ He regarded Caspan for a moment and exhaled wearily. He was about to comment, but hesitated when he saw the hurt and betrayed look in Caspan’s eyes.

  ‘Do you want me to empty my pockets, sir?’ Caspan asked.

  The Master shook his head. ‘That won’t be necessary.’

  ‘What? So you’re letting him off?’ Kilt flared.

  Scott considered her calmly. ‘Caspan gave me his word. As a member of this order, I believe him.’

  Kilt was infuriated. ‘But I saw him steal it!’

  ‘I’m sure there has been a simple misunderstanding,’ Scott said.

  ‘I can’t believe this!’ Kilt’s eyes narrowed into slits. ‘If you’re not going to do anything, I’ll take this to Duke Connal. We’ll see if he’ll be so laid back about it.’

  Scott shot her a stern look. ‘You’re out of line. Now go and stand over there and keep quiet. I’ll talk to you when you’ve calmed down, and not before.’

  Kilt stared at him defiantly before barging past Caspan towards the laundry. The Master hooked his thumbs under his belt and looked at Caspan. ‘Would you like to tell me what happened?’

  Caspan was halfway through explaining that he had stayed behind to clean up the towels, when Roland strode out of the manor house. He greeted the Master and Caspan cheerfully and walked down to join Kilt. After speaking to her briefly, he produced something from his pocket and handed it to her. Then he made his way back to the House of Whispers, smiling as he passed by Caspan and Scott.